


Sharing Breath

by smarshtastic



Series: Twitter McReyes Prompts [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: The smell of smoke reaches his nose. Gabe peels open his eyes and looks around for the source. A little way away from Gabe, he spots the tendril of smoke rising up from a figure sitting on the ground, their back against one of the ventilation structures that dot the rooftop. In the relative darkness, Gabe can’t make out the features of the person, but he’d know that hat anywhere.---Neither Gabe nor McCree can sleep.





	Sharing Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd - I've been focusing a lot on a Very Big Project™ (coming soon! August 29th!), and needed to write some small things to give my mind a break. I got some Twitter prompts and and this is the first of the series. This one is for [cloudraws](https://twitter.com/cloudraws)! 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](wictorwictor.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic)!

Gabe is restless. It’s another sleepless night. He gives up trying to sleep and instead tries to catch up on some paperwork at the desk in his quarters, but it’s a futile effort. So Gabe gives up. He tugs a hoodie over his head and steps out of his quarters. 

Gabe never had trouble sleeping until the Soldier Enhancement Program, but whether it was from the chemicals they pumped into his body or the work they did fighting the Omnics, Gabe isn’t sure. It’s spilled over into his work in Overwatch, with Blackwatch, and Gabe has learned to stop fighting it. Instead, he walks around the base until his brain slows enough for him to catch a few winks of sleep before his morning meetings. It works, sometimes. For the times it doesn’t, Gabe has made a mental map of which of the coffee stations brews the strongest cup. 

The Swiss base is dark and quiet. Gabe’s footsteps echo in the empty corridors. For as frustrating the lack of sleep is, Gabe enjoys these walks. He likes the alone time. 

It’s a cool, early fall night when he steps out onto the roof. Gabe lets the air fill his lungs, enjoying the slight sharpness of the cold air as it hits the back of his throat. He closes his eyes. 

The smell of smoke reaches his nose. Gabe peels open his eyes and looks around for the source. A little way away from Gabe, he spots the tendril of smoke rising up from a figure sitting on the ground, their back against one of the ventilation structures that dot the rooftop. In the relative darkness, Gabe can’t make out the features of the person, but he’d know that hat anywhere. 

Jesse McCree has a strange habit is showing up wherever Gabe is. If Gabe was more superstitious, he might wonder if it meant something. But he’s a spy - he knows not to ascribe meaning to coincidence. Still, he can’t help but wonder. 

It certainly doesn’t help with the little crush Gabe’s subconscious has been nursing for his right hand man. 

After a moment of hesitation, Gabe moves down the rooftop towards McCree’s hunched figure. 

“That’s not a cigarette,” Gabe says. McCree’s head shoots up and then he’s scrambling to his feet. 

“No sir, but it’s medical,” McCree says. He holds the joint out to Gabe. In the silvery moonlight, McCree looks almost sheepish. 

“I don’t smoke,” Gabe says. “And I thought you quit.”

McCree lowers his arm, making a face. “I did. Cigarettes, at least,” he says. He hesitates, rolling the joint between his fingers. “I’ve been seeing the folks in mental health, like you said. PTSD, anxiety and depression. I ain’t much for pills, so they signed off on the spliffs.” 

Gabe feels something clench around his heart. 

“Is it working?”

“Better than nothing,” McCree says with a shrug. “Still can’t sleep half the time.”

“I know the feeling,” Gabe says, hoping it comes out empathetic. McCree cocks his head to the side and offers the joint to Gabe again. 

“You sure you don’t want any of this?”

“I don’t smoke,” Gabe says, almost apologetic. “Never have.”

McCree pushes the brim of his hat up with one finger to get a better look at Gabe. His expression reads incredulous. 

“Never? You went through a stint in the army and all that SEP crap without having a single cigarette?”

Gabe shrugs. McCree lets out a low whistle. 

“Well,” McCree says. There’s a pause. “You wanna try it?” 

Gabe snorts. “I feel like I’m suddenly in some kind of anti-drug campaign.”

McCree snorts too. 

“I ain’t gonna force you, boss. But, well. This stuff does help,” he says. Gabe looks at him curiously, but McCree is looking out over the valley that the base overlooks. “It sorta - it sorta slows everything down. Makes my brain calm down, shut up for a little bit. Enough to let me get some sleep, at least. It’s been good.”

Gabe hesitates. “That does sound good.”

McCree looks back at him. He holds out the joint. Gabe shakes his head, suddenly feeling, for some reason, embarrassed. 

“I don’t smoke,” he says again. 

“You mean you don’t know how?” McCree asks. Gabe shrugs. 

“Like I said, I never have.”

McCree studies Gabe’s face for a moment, his dark eyes intense even in the silvery moonlight. Gabe forgets to breathe for a moment. 

“I can show you, if you want,” McCree says. Gabe hesitates again. 

“Okay,” he says finally. A light seems to flare in McCree’s eyes. He steps closer to Gabe and Gabe feels his heart skip a beat. 

“Okay,” McCree says. He raises the joint. “It’s kinda like CPR. Here -”

McCree takes a drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his mouth. He shifts closer to Gabe and then his other hand reaches up to take off his hat. He drops his hat on the ground and then his hand is slipping around the back of Gabe’s neck to bring him in. For one heart-stopping moment, Gabe thinks McCree is going to kiss him; his mouth is right there, and then his lips part and smoke fills Gabe’s nose and mouth. 

He turns his head so he doesn’t cough in McCree’s face. 

“You have to inhale for it to work,” McCree says, a slightly amused - but not mocking - tone to his voice. Gabe clears throat. McCree’s still standing close to him, the toes of their boots touching. His hand is warm and heavy on the back of Gabe’s neck. Gabe likes the way it feels there. 

“Try again,” Gabe says. 

This time, Gabe’s prepared for it. He watches McCree take a drag from the joint and purse his lips to keep the smoke in as he leans back in towards Gabe to exhale. Gabe closes his eyes and breathes in the smoke, feeling the slight burn in his throat as it fills his lungs. He coughs again, but less harshly. An unfamiliar looseness washes over him. He swears he feels McCree’s thumb rub against the back of his neck. 

“Okay?” McCree asks. Gabe nods a little. 

“How long does it take to work?”

“This is good stuff, so it’s pretty quick,” McCree says. “You want more?”

“Sure.”

McCree takes another hit and passes the smoke into Gabe’s mouth. The loose feeling intensifies, and Gabe can feel some of the tension begin to melt away. McCree lets his hand drop from the back of Gabe’s neck and takes a drag off the joint for himself. Gabe immediately misses the steady, solid warmth of McCree’s hand. 

“I can see why you’d prefer this over pills,” Gabe says. McCree chuckles. 

“Don’t get me wrong - I ain’t got nothing against pills. Just some bad memories associated with ‘em,” he says. He holds up the joint. “This is just easier for me, right now.”

Gabe nods. “I understand.”

“You want another hit?”

“Alright,” Gabe says, half-hoping that McCree will touch him again. He leans forward as McCree does too. Through the smoke, Gabe can imagine the bruch of McCree’s lips on his own. He closes his eyes as he breathes in the smoke. 

“You’re a natural, boss,” McCree says. Gabe blinks his eyes back open. 

“You make it easy,” Gabe says. The corner of McCree’s mouth twitches up, an expression passing over his face that Gabe can’t quite identify. 

“You want to finish this with me?” McCree asks, holding up what’s left of the joint. 

“I don’t want to steal your treatment,” Gabe says. It’s an out - a chance for McCree to change his mind - but McCree’s shaking his head. 

“I got plenty. And it seems like you could use it too.”

“Alright then.”

They share the rest of the joint, McCree alternating between taking hits for himself and sharing the smoke with Gabe. Every time McCree leans in close, Gabe has to remind himself to breathe, to ignore the leap of his heart in his chest. McCree’s hand lands on the back of Gabe’s neck again, his thumb rubbing over the knob of bone there. Gabe leans into the touch. Time seems to move slower. It’s peaceful up here, on the roof with McCree. All of his anxieties have melted away. He’s pleasantly focused on his proximity to McCree, how beautiful he looks in the moonlight, how strong and warm his hands are, how his lips purse around the end of the joint before coming tantalizingly close to Gabe’s own mouth. 

“We probably got one more hit outta this one,” McCree says eventually. Gabe tries not to let the disappointment sour his high. He nods. 

“Okay.”

“Here -” McCree says. He takes a long, final drag from the joint and flicks the end away. He turns back to Gabe, his eyes scanning Gabe’s face. It feels like McCree is moving slowly, his movements exaggerated. McCree takes Gabe’s face in both hands and then he’s leaning in. Gabe closes his eyes, his lips parting slightly. He doesn’t expect McCree’s mouth to press against his own, but he feels rough, chapped lips on his before he tastes smoke. He sucks in the breath too quickly. 

Was that a kiss?

McCree pulls away as Gabe splutters. 

“Sorry - you okay?”

“I - yeah. I’m fine,” Gabe says. McCree picks his hat up off the ground and dusts it off before he sets it back on his head. 

“You’re gonna sleep like a log tonight,” McCree says. “Just you wait.”

“A miracle,” Gabe says, even though he’s wondering if he will be able to sleep. His lips feel like they’re still tingling - did he imagine the way McCree’s lips brushed up against his own, his mouth lingering for a moment longer than necessary before passing the smoke to Gabe? 

“Night, boss.”

“Good night, McCree.” 


End file.
